


Plainer to My Sight

by carolinecrane



Category: D3: The Mighty Ducks (1996), Mighty Ducks (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 22:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinecrane/pseuds/carolinecrane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shower porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plainer to My Sight

His pads hit the metal locker with a resounding clang – it's not all that satisfying, but it helps burn off a little extra energy. He shouldn't really have any energy to burn off after the way Coach Orion drilled them, but there's a lot to be said for righteous indignation. And he bets Coach would have a heart attack if he found out Fulton knew words like 'righteous' and 'indignation' – considers saying them just to see if he can get the old man to keel over, but instead he scowls a little harder and yanks his jersey over his head.

It's not that he hates Coach Orion. He doesn't…he just liked him a lot better before Portman showed up. And okay, maybe he and Portman have been showing off on the ice a little, but they've only been back together for a few weeks and people expect certain things from the Bash Brothers. So he doesn't get why Coach rides them so hard about showboating when they're just doing their jobs. More pads hit his locker, the sound of clashing metal ringing in his ears and he feels a little better now.

He shivers when he yanks his undershirt off, cool air hitting sweat-slick skin and now he just wants to get in the shower, under hot water where he can warm up. They've been out on the ice for what feels like forever – more like a few hours, but it's long enough to make him feel the cold way down in his bones. Portman didn't even wait long enough to get back to his locker and strip out of his gear – he headed straight for the showers, and Fulton can hear the water running as he wraps a towel around his waist and heads to the back of the locker room.

When he gets there there's a pile of gear right in front of the showers, and Fulton shivers as he pictures Portman peeling it off as he storms through the locker room. He pushes those thoughts as far back in his mind as they'll go, averting his eyes as he drops his towel and heading for the shower farthest away from Portman. The last thing he needs is to get hard while he's in the shower with his roommate, because that means turning off the hot water and the thought of a cold shower right now makes him want to cry.

He doesn't even look at the other boy as he turns on his own shower, hot water making his cold skin ache for a second until he gets used to it. Slowly he eases himself under the spray, letting it soak his hair and his sore muscles. His eyes are closed, whole body focused on pretending he's not standing naked just a few feet away from Portman, so he doesn't hear the other boy until it's too late.

"Hey, man. You're gonna drown if you stand there with your mouth open like that."

Instantly Fulton's eyes snap open, water stinging them and he reaches up to wipe it away, blinking Portman into focus. He glances over at the shower Portman abandoned, then back at his roommate and…wow, that's a bad idea, because Portman's even hotter when he's wet. "What?"

Portman just smirks and Fulton's positive he looks like an idiot, but at least he can blame his blush on the scalding heat from the shower. He turns his back to the other boy as much as he dares, reaching for the soap and there's a joke in there somewhere that he's not going to think about, because he's got a plan.

It's a simple plan, really – soap up, rinse off, get the hell out of the shower before he does anything stupid. Like look at Portman. Or even _think_ about looking at Portman. In fact, breathing is probably a pretty bad idea at this point, because he might accidentally _smell_ Portman, and if he does that it's all over.

"You looked pretty good out there today."

"What?" And hey, he's down to a one-word vocabulary. His father always said he'd prove himself to be a complete idiot someday; it's just too bad he's not here to witness it.

"I said you looked good out there today," Portman says again, still smirking and yeah, it's still a bad idea to look at him.

"Orion didn't think so."

"Fuck him," Portman says, his smirk twisting into a scowl and Fulton doesn't have to look to know Portman's hot when he's angry, too. "What's his problem, anyway?"

He could answer that, could tell Portman that Orion's not like Bombay, that he's not the 'win at all costs' type and he's not going to put up with their shit. He wants a professional-looking team, one he can be proud of. He's a former pro, after all, and he loves the game, but he loves kids even more. Charlie explained it all to him one time, but Fulton knows exactly what Portman would say if he told him any of that, so instead he just runs his hands through his hair and reaches for the soap again. "Beats me."

And this is taking too long – Portman's been in here even longer than him, and so far all Fulton can figure is that he's just standing there…watching. Watching Fulton, and that's enough to make him blush all over as he soaps up as much of his back as he can reach.

"You want some help with that?"

He catches himself just before he says 'what?' again, because there's stupid, and then there's redundant. Another word that would shock Orion, but that thought barely registers because he can _feel_ Portman's gaze on him and he can't help it, he has to look. It feels like he's moving in slow motion, like this is one of _those_ movies, the ones guys aren't supposed to like, but finally he's face to face with Portman.

Portman who's looking at him with those dark eyes, golden skin slick and Fulton glances down long enough to see that he's hard. "Dude, what…?"

There goes that smirk again, and as soon as Fulton realizes what he said he blushes, face so hot he can't remember ever being cold. He wants to run, to get the hell out of there before he does anything he can't take back, but even if he did take off it's too late, because he's hard and it's not like Portman's going to miss a detail like _that_.

"It's no big deal," Portman says, then he shrugs… _shrugs_ , like coming on to Fulton in the showers happens every day. Except that it doesn't happen _ever_ , and Fulton wants to pinch himself but he can't do it without looking like even more of an idiot. "Looks like we're in the same boat, is all."

He's heard about stuff like this, but he always thought it only happened in bad porn. Not that he's seen a lot of porn, but none of his friends have ever come on to him and he always figured guys didn't really do this sort of stuff. Not straight guys, anyway, which means that either he was wrong about…well, everything, or Portman's not as straight as he thought.

"Since when do you like guys?" he blurts out, wishing he could take back the words as soon as they're out of his mouth, because Portman's coming on to him and he's blowing it. Only he's not sure this is such a good idea, because if he goes through with this and it's a one-time only deal, he'll die. He'll have to go back to Minneapolis, back to District Five and public school and his old man, because there's no way he'll be able to look Portman in the face ever again.

"You know what, Fulton?" Portman says, and Fulton's not sure when it happened exactly, but suddenly they're a lot closer than they were a minute ago.

"No," Fulton says, because there's no way in hell he's going to say 'what' again.

"You talk too much."

He opens his mouth to answer, to say something smart about all the trash-talking Portman's done since they met and who's got the biggest mouth around here, but before he gets a chance that mouth is pressed against his. And it's hard to tell whose mouth is actually bigger even when they're pressed right up against each other, but it doesn't matter because Portman's kissing him.

Portman. Kissing _him_. And this definitely isn't one of those things guys do just because it's convenient – he's pretty sure there's no making out in the Straight Guy handbook, and he's positive there's no wrapping arms around waists and pulling bodies close together and just kind of…holding each other. That's exactly what Portman's doing, one hand stroking up and down Fulton's back and the other one in his hair, tilting his head just so until they're just sort of breathing against each other.

He manages to put enough distance between them to look at Portman, taking in swollen lips and dark eyes, his cock twitching at the sight and he's going to die of embarrassment before he ever gets to come. "What if Coach…?"

"He had to go pick up his kid," Portman answers, fingers digging into Fulton's hip like he's working hard to keep himself under control, "I heard him on the phone."

Fulton wants to ask when, but he can't because Portman's kissing him again, harder this time, like he's trying to prove a point. He doesn't know what Portman's trying to prove, but he doesn't really care because strong hands are on his hips, gripping hard and moving them together. Somebody moans, the sound echoing off the shower walls and God, they're going to get caught. He's sure of it, but he can't make himself stop, because nobody's ever touched him before and he never thought the first time this happened would be with Portman.

The last time, maybe, because Portman would kill him just for thinking about it. Only he's the one who started it, and he's the one licking drops of water off Fulton's neck. Dean Portman's _licking_ him, and Fulton's pretty sure he could come from that alone. He's dangerously close to doing just that, and he knows if he doesn't put some distance between them he's going to embarrass himself. But he doesn't want to stop, because it feels way too good and he can't stop this now even if he wanted to.

Almost as though he can read Fulton's mind Portman stops, dragging his mouth away from Fulton's skin to look at him. And Fulton's not sure what he's thinking, but whatever it is launches a thousand butterflies in his stomach. "Turn around."

He doesn't say it – doesn't ask why or any other 'w' word. He wants to, but he wants to come even more so he just nods once and turns around. Hands braced against the blue tile wall and Portman's arm slides around his waist, fingers splayed against his stomach possessively, like he's trying to claim Fulton. Portman's chest is pressed against his back, cock hard and when he shifts just so Portman slips a little closer, cock nestled…oh, God, right _there_.

And he's so not ready for that, but before he can panic Portman's hand closes around his cock, stroking slowly and Fulton can't help moving with him. He relaxes a little when Portman doesn't try to push inside, thrusting against him and whenever his balls press against Fulton's hole he's not so sure he doesn't want to try that. Eventually. Maybe after a weekend trip home to steal some beer from his dad, but the thought makes him shudder a little and the pressure of Portman grinding against him is kind of…hot.

He's thrusting harder into the circle of Portman's fist, eyes closed and he doesn't even care anymore if anybody walks in on them, because he's never felt so good in his life and he never wants it to end. He wants to stay just like this forever, hot water rushing over them and hard muscle holding him up, Portman's free hand wrapped around his chest to stroke over wet skin and tiny little grunts of pleasure escaping his throat with each thrust.

He fights it as long as he can, holding back and holding back because he wants this to last in case it never happens again. Portman's thumb strokes over his nipple and he shudders, whole body clenching and Portman groans low in his ear. He does it again just to see what will happen, gets a convulsive squeeze and a wild thrust of Portman's hips for his efforts. The thrust hits him just right, making him gasp and press back into the other boy. And if it feels that good just to press on that spot, he can't imagine what it would feel like to press inside.

The second he pictures Portman pushing a finger inside him he's coming, wet heat hitting the tile and Portman's fingers. It's all he can do to hold himself up as Portman groans and thrusts against him, again and again and Fulton loses count by the time he finally comes. They're both breathing heavy and his arms are sore from holding them up – Portman's not exactly light, after all – but he's never felt better in his life.

He's never come like that, either, and he's terrified to turn around because as soon as he does he'll know whether or not Portman's ever planning to let this happen again. He thinks about just staying right here until Portman gets bored and goes away, but when hands start moving on his skin again he realizes Portman's not going to make it that easy for him.

He straightens up with an effort, knees wobbling a little and he doesn't register the fact that Portman's turning him until they're face to face. Or maybe he turned Portman, because he's still facing the wall, only Portman's leaning against the tile now, grinning at him like they just won the Stanley Cup.

"Coach doesn't know what he's talking about. You've got great moves," Portman says, and Fulton can't help laughing because it's gotta be the corniest line he could have come up with.

Before he has a chance to get nervous again Portman's pulling him forward, hands sliding down his back and Fulton moans against his mouth when Portman's hands ghost across his ass. And if this is the way every late practice is going to end, Fulton's happy to stay and run drills after the rest of the team's long gone. In fact, he can't think of a single thing he'd rather do.


End file.
